The Ring of Five (29 page)

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sweat. Danny held back a little to allow Dixie time to catch up. For a moment he thought he caught a flicker as she passed him, and then the door was slammed shut.

"This is the deepest, oldest part of the prison," Cranbull said, his voice rasping in the stillness. The torchlight gleamed off damp stone walls with strange mosses and lichens growing on them. The air in the corridors had not been good, but the air here was utterly foul, as though old things had rotted away in the dark. Vandra shivered, and Danny was surprised when she grasped his hand. He caught sight of Dixie hidden behind a buttress. She made a face and grasped her throat as if the dank odors were choking her.

They were in a long prison corridor with rusting iron doors spaced six feet apart. At the end of the corridor two Cherb guards sat at a table littered with foul scraps. Both were deathly pale, as if they had spent all their lives in that place. One had a pasty face covered with large boils. The other had a growth on his forehead like a giant wart. Lump and Bump, Danny christened them. They rose to their feet as Cranbull approached, darting glances at Danny. Obviously news of the Fifth had reached here.

"The Messenger!" Cranbull barked. Bump took a bunch of keys from his pocket and opened one of the cells. Danny was aware of Dixie in the shadows halfway down the corridor.

Les was lying on a wretched pallet of straw, pale and ill, his breathing uneven. He did not stir when they entered. There was no light in the cell, but Cranbull's lantern cast grotesque shadows on the wall. With pity and

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guilt Danny saw the Messenger's twisted and filthy wings. Behind him he heard a sudden intake of breath from Vandra.

"Well?" Cranbull said. "Finish him off quickly. I take it you don't want a chaplain!" He laughed mirthlessly. The two guards backed away from Vandra.

"Physick," Danny said, "do your work." Vandra walked slowly forward. She knelt beside Les.

"I don't know ... he's very weak," she said with a pleading look at Danny.

"Weak!" Cranbull laughed. "In a few minutes he'll be dead. Don't worry about weak."

"Do it!" Danny ordered. Les would die anyway if they left him here. She held Danny's eyes for a long time; then she bent over Les, casting a vampirish shadow in the flickering light. Danny heard a deep intake of breath from one of the Cherbs. There was a long silence; then Vandra raised her head. Danny saw, with a feeling of horror that he couldn't quite suppress, that there was a drop of blood on her chin. Vandra dabbed at it, then apologetically wiped it away. Cranbull stepped over to Les, lifted his wrist to take his pulse. Danny could see that his friend's chest was no longer rising and falling.

"Dead as a doornail. You've had your satisfaction, Fifth." He nodded to the two guards, who seized Les's feet and arms.

"Where are they taking him?" Danny asked, trying to hide his alarm. He hadn't expected this.

"Rue Morgue," Cranbull said shortly.

"Where's that?"

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"The street of the dead." Danny stepped forward to stop the guards, but Vandra grasped his sleeve. With a sick feeling in his stomach he watched Les being carried out of the cell. Cranbull went out with them.

"Let them take him there," Vandra whispered. "I know where it is--it's the only way we can get him out."

"Is he all right?" Vandra's big brown eyes met Danny's. He could see the two sharp incisors on her lower lip.

"I don't know," she said. "I injected the anesthetic like you asked--he's in the deepest sleep possible. His heart is barely beating. But we need to get to him fast."

"If we don't ... if we don't, Les is dead. And we killed him," Danny said.

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RUE MORGUE

Danny insisted that Cranbull let them out of the prison on the perimeter of the fortress. The jailer led them to a tiny doorway in the fortress wall.

"A traitors' gate," he said with an unpleasant grin. "It's where we take in the prisoners we don't want anyone to see."

Danny shivered at the thought of it--the fear those people must feel with the walls of Grist towering above them.

Cranbull pushed them through the door and slammed it behind them with such haste that once again Danny was afraid Dixie might not make it through. But there she was, sucking at a cut on her hand.

"Nearly took the hand off me coming through the

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door," she said. "Is that place grim or what? What about Les?"

"We have to get to him quickly," Danny said shortly, thinking how if it wasn't for him, Les wouldn't have been there in the first place.

"I don't like it here," Vandra said, and shivered. Danny looked around. They were isolated against the sheer wall of the fortress. Patches of damp mist floated through the air, but otherwise, they were completely exposed.

"Seraphim patrol the sky at night, the big hairy vultures," Dixie said. "Time to be gone."

"What direction is the Rue Morgue?" Danny asked urgently.

"Follow me," Vandra said.

Danny and Dixie set off after the physick. None of them noticed the shadowy figure that had been standing so close to the wall of the fortress that it seemed part of the stone. And none of them saw it detach from the wall and follow them.

They reached the first buildings of the town. Vandra led them downhill. It was very late. There was no one else about. The streets were dimly lit by yellow gaslights. The houses and shops felt hostile, barred and shuttered, offering no hiding place. Danny's feet sounded too loud on the wet cobbles. They kept looking up nervously for signs of patroling Seraphim. Dixie stayed close to Danny.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"I was afraid of being left behind in the dark," she

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whispered back. He looked at her to see if she was joking, but he saw no smile.

The next street was filled with shops. Some had razors hanging above the door. Others had sharp-toothed saws above the door, or lengths of bloodstained bandages.

"What's this?" Danny asked.

"The Street of the Doctors," Vandra whispered. "Rue Morgue--the Street of the Dead--is next one down."

"Why am I not surprised?" Dixie said with distaste, staring at a display of suspiciously used-looking hatchets in one window.

"Shh!" Vandra hissed. A great birdlike shape wheeled in the sky ahead of them. For a moment they thought it was coming their way, and they shrank against the shuttered shops; then it turned, as if drawn by some other prey, and was gone.

"Come on!" Vandra led them out into the street again. At the top of the street was a statue.

Dixie whistled. "Look at that," she said. The statue was of a skeleton caught in the middle of a grotesque dance, a skull firmly grasped in each hand. On the statue's base was carved: RUE MORGUE.

Danny looked at Dixie. She shrugged.

"After you," she said. Vandra was already moving quickly ahead. They followed.

On Rue Morgue there were headstone dealers and wreath stores. The sickly scent of lilies filled the night air. There were dingy-looking coffin shops, and windows filled with cremation urns. There was a shop with embalming

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equipment in the corner. Danny didn't even want to think what the coils of rubber piping and brass tubing were used for. There was a whole display of mournful-looking death masks with rolls of black crepe underneath. There was a music shop called Mournful Moods.

At the bottom of the street there were rows and rows of shops with signs bearing the title UNDERTAKER or FUNERAL DIRECTOR. There was only one light on--in the dingiest, dustiest-looking window in the whole street. A flaking wooden plaque promised NIGHT BURIALS, EMBALMING SERVICES, and on the second line: BONE AGENT AND ORGAN BROKER BY APPOINTMENT.

"Organ broker? Does that mean ...," Danny began.

"Don't think about it," Vandra answered, grasping a frayed bell pull and yanking on it. Far in the distance a bell tolled. In response to Danny's look, Dixie grinned.

"Well, you didn't expect violins, did you?"

There was a long pause before they heard footsteps approaching. The door was opened by an ancient Cherb woman. She had apple cheeks, insofar as a Cherb could have apple cheeks, and a kindly smile on her wrinkled face. Her hair was piled high on her head in a bun. Dixie nudged Danny and nodded to the pin that held her hair in place. It was a bone. Could it be human?

"Good evening, my dears," she said in a sweet, trembling voice. "What sad event brings you here so late? Perhaps your parents have succumbed to a plague and left you as dear little orphans? Or a youthful friend has just drowned in a tragic swimming accident? I like to see a young corpse come through the door. Young people do

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so brighten a place up, don't you think? I'm Granny Grimley."

"We were looking for a friend of ours--Les Knutt. A young Messenger ..."

"Oh yes, one was dumped here just an hour ago. They do that, you know, leave bodies on the doorstep. Most thoughtless. They try to save on funeral costs, then what does Granny Grimley have to do? Sell the body parts, I'm afraid. One doesn't want to, but costs have to be defrayed. There's usually a little left over to bury, which is nice."

"You haven't, I mean ... started yet ...?" Danny looked at her in horror.

"No, the doorbell interrupted, but if you want him, you'll have to pay...."

"I've got money," Danny said. Granny Grimley raised an eyebrow: then she took in the black uniform he wore, and her expression softened. "Lots of it," Danny said. "But if he's damaged ..."

"Not even the smallest incision," Granny Grimley said, "but I mustn't keep you here chatting. The fog's coming in. You'll catch your death."

It was true. Behind them a heavy bank of fog was rolling down the street toward them. Granny Grimley grabbed Danny by the arm and hauled him into the hallway. Vandra and Dixie followed.

There was old linoleum on the floor, and faded flocked wallpaper, which Danny noticed was encrusted here and there with bits of things he didn't want to look at too closely. Granny Grimley took them through a small

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living room, shuffling ahead of them in slippers. There was a bright fire burning, and there were pictures of kittens on the walls. The room would have been cozy except for the fact that every surface was covered in jars with gruesome objects floating in them.

"Is that a real hand?" Dixie said. "Wow!"

"Please ..." Danny looked away and found himself staring at a jar of eyeballs. Granny Grimley threw open a set of doors that looked as if they'd come from an operating room. The room they entered was in complete contrast to the rest of the house. Stainless-steel shelves lined the white-tiled walls, and on the shelves was an array of every kind of surgical instrument you could think of. There was a gleaming sink; everything was bathed in powerful lights hanging from the ceiling. In the center of the room there was a large stainless-steel table and, in the middle of that, looking very small and bedraggled, was Les.

All three made to move toward Les.

"Excuse me," Granny Grimley said pleasantly. She didn't say anything else, but she was standing beside a shelf of very large meat cleavers.

"Yes, of course," Danny said quickly. He went over to her and pulled wads of notes from his pocket. Granny Grimley's pleasant smile returned. She scooped the cash into a pocket of her apron.

"And what will you want to do with the young man? I can of course provide a coffin. A little expensive, perhaps--the Messengers are so difficult to fit in--the wings you see. Of course, they can always be removed...." Granny Grimley pointed to a large circular saw.

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"That won't be necessary," Vandra said quietly. She bent over Les. Danny looked away. Granny Grimley's eyes narrowed. Vandra straightened. There was a long silence. Les didn't move.

"A little more antidote ...," Vandra said, leaning over him again. But once again, the Messenger boy did not move. Minutes passed.

"I only have a little left," Vandra said, looking worried. She tried again. "That's it," she said despairingly.

"He's not moving." Dixie reached out and touched Les's cold hand.

"You can't cheat Death," Granny Grimley said. "Death will have his way."

"Wait," Danny said. He reached into his coat pocket and brought out the signal mirror he had been given by the Storeman. He held it over his friend's cold lips. A little mist formed on it--Les was alive!

"Rub his arms and legs, get the circulation going!" Vandra cried. Together they worked on Les. Some little color returned to his cheeks. He moaned and stirred. His eyes opened. Granny Grimley's mouth pursed.

"He's supposed to be dead," she said. "Where would we be if everyone who was supposed to be dead started waking up again?"

"Where ... am I? ... I thought ...," Les said, opening his eyes and looking wildly around.

"You're okay, Les," Dixie said, "you've just been for a sleep, is all."

They got Les into an upright position.

"He needs rest," Vandra said.